Black Atonement
by macadoodle1996
Summary: Through the centuries, the House of Black has been steadfast and strong, practical royalty among the Wizarding World, but now it is nearly gone. Sirius Black is in the-Land-Beyond-the-Veil; Bailey Black is in the land of no return. The House of Black may have reached its end. Book 3 in the Lost Heir series. Sequel to The Lost Heir & Day of Black. ON HIATUS
1. The End of House Black

**A/N: The Rewrite is here! Please, read and review. I am sorry to my reviewers on the original version of this story, but there were just some plots that I was getting tangled up in with the last one, so I needed to start over. Thank you for all your support and please read and review!**

Draco stood back from the carnage of the O'Bailey family farm. He could hardly believe his eyes—he had never thought he would have a hand in so much death in one night. Especially not the death of two cousins, one an infant, the other a dear friend. His stomach was in knots from the sound of crackling flames and screams that had long since faded from the air, if not his ears. The little white farmhouse that had become his refuge after his father's embarrassment second year, when the man was too volatile to be safe. And now? Fleecewood was only bare beams and ashes.

Professor Snape was sifting around the ashes as Auntie Bella cackled madly at the dying flames. His Professor stood up, something shiny and silver glinting in his hand. He walked over to Draco and showed it to him.

"Proof of the traitor's death," was all the dark man said as he dropped the small object into Draco's hand.

It was Bailey's charm bracelet—the one all Black girls received at birth.

He could not help it then. He bent over and violently expelled the contents of his stomach.

Remus had barely had a moment to breath after the battle when he felt something pull at his gut, insisting that he had to get out of there and to…

Fleecewood.

"Remus, what's wrong?" a voice said beside him. He barely felt Tonks place a comforting hand on his arm.

"The wards… they've been breached—I have to—"

"Slow down, love," she said. "What wards? Where?"

"Tilly's farm," he said. "But they're supposed to be at Grimmauld Place, I don't know why—"

"Then they should be fine," she said, trying to reassure him. "And after what happened tonight—well, if not even Hogwarts is really safe, then I don't like the idea of you running off to check the wards tonight."

Remus sighed, still tense. "You have a point," he admitted. She truly did. Who knew what kind of things the Death Eaters would be doing tonight? Tilly and the baby were supposed to be at Grimmauld Place, there was no need to see what had happened at Fleecewood tonight, not when emotions were high and mistakes could be made.

Yet, he could not shake the urging in his gut to go to the farm. He was distracted for a moment, however, as he watched a bespectacled boy walked up to him. Behind his glasses, Harry's eyes were rimmed with red and looked more defeated that Remus had ever saw them. He fought the urge to wrap the boy in a bear hug, fearful how such a show of affection might be received.

"Harry," he said, placing a gentle hand on the shoulder of his best friend's son. "There's nothing you could have done."

Harry did not answer. He just said in a soft voice. "Have you seen Bailey? I wanted to make sure she was safe through all this."

Remus felt a cold pit of fear open in his stomach at the mention of his goddaughter. But he put on an unconcerned face for Harry.

"I'm sure she's around here somewhere," he said. "I'll look for her and send her your way when I find her."

Harry nodded morosely, heading back into the crowd, likely to find young Ginerva, if Remus had to bet. The werewolf immediately turned to Tonks.

"I have to go," he said simply, started for the gates, practically jogging to get outside the apparition wards.

"Wait, Remus, wait—"

"I can't wait until morning," he said. "Something has gone terribly, terribly wrong and I have to make sure they are safe. I promised Sirius to keep his family safe."

"I'm coming with you," she said.

"Nymphaedora, I can't ask that of you—"

"Firstly, don't call me that," she said, with a dulled playful glint in her eye. Such jokes did not hold the same power in times like these. "Secondly, you didn't ask. I gatecrashed your party. Now let's go."

Remus nodded and did not even protest when Tonks grabbed his hand and the two raced towards the edge of the apparition wards. As soon as they were beyond the Hogwarts gates, the Dark Mark still shining in the sky behind them, Remus apparated, pulling Tonks along with him.

The first thing he noticed was the acrid stench of smoke, his heightened senses recognizing the tinge of burning flesh among that of wood fire. Up the hill, they could see the Dark Mark floating, giving a horrible green light to their surroundings. Not even thinking, he dropped Tonks' hand and raced up the hill, coming to a horrendous sight.

The little white farmhouse which he had lived in more often than not was aflame, though all that remained of it was a blackened house frame. Remus heard a wretched scream wrench the air, barely registering the fact that it was his own voice as he all but ran into the flames.

"Remus, don't!" Tonks cried, wrapping an arm around his. "That's Fiendfyre!"

Remus fought her with all his might, viciously throwing her off himself with his superior strength. The wolf was raging closer to the surface than it ever had on a night that wasn't the full moon. He raced into the flames, Tonks calling his name behind him as he coughed on the air around him. So focused was he that the heat of the flames barely bothered him.

He managed to avoid falling beams and flames alike as he made his way to what had been the living area of the O'Bailey farm. He stopped dead when he got there.

Lying among the ash were bones. He could make out two full-grown skeletons, arms clutched around each other, with a heartbreakingly small skeleton in between. He sunk to his knees in despair and horror.

"No, no," he groaned. "No!"

"Remus! Re—" a hacking cough followed the callin of his name. He felt small arms wrap around him. "Merlin, I'm sorry— _cough_ , _cough_ —but we've got to go! There's nothing we can do for them now."

Remus allowed himself to be drug out from the flames, despite an intense desire to stay there. Tonks brought him to the cool grass, where both collapsed, coughing and wheezing in the cool night air after sucking in so much smoke. They just lay there for a several minutes, Remus not desiring much of anything, least of which to move. Tonks just reached out and took his hand, seeming to understand his desire for silence.

Sirius dead. Tilly dead. Bailey dead. Gussy dead. All of the Black family wiped out within a year. He felt sick.

The two lay there in the grass watching the flames die out until the sun began to rise over the rolling hills. Tonks gave his hand a little tug.

"C'mon. Harry needs to know," she said quietly. If Remus could have felt anything, he would have felt his heart sink to his toes as he thought of the young Potter who had lost too much already. As it was, he was numb.

Taking his silence as agreement, Tonks wrap her other hand around his bicep and apparated them both to just outside the front gates of Hogwarts. The two began the slow climb up the hill to the castle. There was a figure waiting on the steps that jumped up as soon as he saw them approaching.

"Professor Lupin! Tonks! Where did you go? Did you find her?" Harry demanded frantically.

This time, Remus did not fight the urge to hug the boy close. Finally the tears began to fall as he shook with loud sobs.

"I'm sorry, I'm sorry," he sobbed. "Merlin, I'm so sorry."

Harry was looking over Remus' shoulder at Tonks with wide, fearful eyes. She shook her head.

"There was an attack," she said. "None of the three survived."

Harry seemed to freeze for a moment, uncomprehending. But, with the werewolf still sobbing into his shoulder, it did not take long for him to understand.

The Black family was dead.

Chaos reigned. Stones were falling, people screaming, spells flying. Dark creatures swarmed, dementors swooping over their victims, acromantulas climbing over scarily still bodies, giants crushing everyone and everything in their paths. She spun in place, hardly able to take in all that was happening around her as spell fire flew over her head.

The scene skipped, and suddenly she felt the cool night air but a burning sensation across her abdomen. She pressed her hands to her stomach and when she pulled them away, there was bright red blood. Even as she tried to take in what was happening, she felt her knees giving way. A pair of skinny arms caught her from behind.

"No, 'Melia, yeh're gonna be okay!"

"Diction," she mumbled. And then she sat up in bed, gasping as she clutched her chest.

Within moments, Amelia had shot out of bed, stumbling to the bathroom to expel herself of the contents of her stomach. She expected for any moment that Bailey would come rushing after her, soothing her after her Vision as she always did. But her friend never came. Amelia had a feeling of dread in the pit of her stomach as she walked out of the bathroom on shaky legs. Daylight was beginning to filter through the murky depths of the lake outside the window, but none of her dormmates were awake yet. She made her way to Bailey's bed, as she often had over their time at Hogwarts, seeking comfort.

Bailey was not in her bed.

For some reason, Amelia just knew that it was not a simple case of the other girl staying up to brew potions all night long, though that had been the case more times than Amelia cared to count. No, something more sinister was afoot here. With that thought in mind, Amelia grabbed her bathrobe and house shoes before rushing down the stairs from the girls' dormitory to the Common Room. She saw Blaise almost immediately, standing with one arm braced on the mantle place.

"Blaise! Bailey isn't in her bed—have you—"

It was then that Amelia noticed the other occupant of the Slytherin Common Room. Her eyes narrowed.

"Potter?" she said. "What in the name of Merlin are you doing down here?"

She took in the red-rimmed eyes on the Chosen One's face, dried tear tracks staining his cheeks, stained robes hanging off his slumped shoulders. Then she took in Blaise, looking as though he was barely able to stand, that if there was not a stone wall holding him up that he would collapse into a boneless puddle.

"There was a Death Eater attack this evening, two attacks," Potter began in a hoarse voice. "Malfoy—Snape killed Dumbledore. And then they went to Fleecewood and murdered the Blacks."

It felt like there was a tunnel of air around Amelia that stretched out Potter's words and made them incomprehensible. Her mind latched onto all of the dreams she had been having since the Dark Lord came back, all the ways that her Sight had tortured her with what was to come. This was not right. _It was not right._

"That's not possible," she said, barely breathing. "It's just not possible. I don't understand."

"Bailey got herself killed, 'Melia, what's there to understand?" Blaise said bitterly in a thick voice. Potter winced.

"But I'm supposed—It just doesn't make sense!" she exclaimed, tears beginning to come unbidden to her eyes. "Bailey's a survivor—she's supposed to survive!"

"I think I'm just gonna leave now," Potter muttered. Neither Slytherin paid any attention to him.

"You know what Potter just told me?" Blaise said with more fire behind his eyes than Amelia had ever seen. "Fiendfyre. Burnt down all of Fleecewood. No one survives that. Bailey—Mrs. Black—the baby—they're all. dead."

Amelia was still shaking her head, even as tears poured down her face.

"But why were they even at Fleecewood?" she exclaimed. "They were supposed to be at the Black townhome. Safe—this makes no sense—"

"Enough Amelia!" Blaise shouted. "It doesn't matter! She's dead! She promised me she would survive and—and—she's!"

It was then that Blaise collapsed, falling hard into one of the low couches. At the sight of Blaise's despair, it finally became real to Amelia. Bailey was gone. The Sight had failed her and she had lost her best friend with no warning whatsoever.

 _But maybe I'll live._


	2. Fight or Flight

**A/N: So this chapter is a few days early. It has some things from the previous version, but is mostly new. I'm taking my time developing my other characters in this story because, as you can tell, it has become much more of an ensemble piece at this point. Hope you enjoy!**

Professor Snape made sure that Draco was the one to tell Lady Malfoy of the demise of the House of Black. After all, Narcissa had grown attached to Bailey in the time that the girl was her society protege; her son would be the only one who she would accept the news from. But Draco could hardly accept it himself; his cousin, his _friend_ , was supposed to be smarter than this; her mother had been too kind, her brother too young and innocent. Despite this, Draco still had to explain his part in Bailey's death to his mother, who had already been so fearful of losing more the Dark Lord's insatiable quest for power.

He walked slowly into her drawing room just as the sun was rising after a long night of Death Eater revels, celebrating the demise of Dumbledore. Narcissa Malfoy was seated on the window seat, keeping careful watch over the grounds of Malfoy Manor, looking the very picture of elegance as she always did. She looked up as Draco came in. Quickly she hopped off the seat and practically flew to her son, enveloping him in a tight embrace unlike he had ever before experienced.

"Draco, Draco darling, you're alright—it's done and you're alright—it's done and you're home!" she exclaimed, holding him out away from her so she could examine him for any injuries.

"Sit down, Mother," he said.

"What's wrong Draco, dear?" she demanded, not sitting down.

He tried to place his hands on her shoulders in order to force her to take a seat. "Mother—"

"Despite your wildly unfounded notions of me, Draco, I am not some delicate flower; I can stand up while you deliver whatever news it is that you have," she said derisively. He was suddenly reminded of the fact that for all he was a Prince of Slytherin, his mother had been the Queen in her day. It had been little wonder that she and Bailey had got on so well…

Bailey.

Draco sighed heavily. "Bail—Minerva defected."

Narcissa froze in place. Everyone knew what happened to a Death Eater who tried to defect from the ranks.

"And?"

"You know the answer to that, Mother," he said softly. "Don't make tell you."

"I want to hear it, Draco," she said, not looking at him. She was twisting her own charm bracelet round and round on her wrist, making Bailey's weigh all the heavier in Draco's pocket. "I need to hear it."

"After Hogwarts," he began haltingly. "After the Headmaster—the three Blacks—Bailey, the baby, their mother—went back to Fleecewood. Why, I don't know. They were caught there almost immediately by Snape and Auntie Bella and…. Well, you know her specialty with Fiendfyre."

Narcissa gave a small gasp but jerked away when Draco tried to reach for her in comfort. He swallowed his guilt and shame heavily before reaching into his pocket to bring out his best friend's charm bracelet.

"Professor Snape brought this before the Dark Lord as proof last night," he said with a thick voice. "But… but she would want you to have it."

He gently laid the bracelet on her vanity table, deciding to retrieve some Dreamless Sleep from his father's old stores. Without it, he would be doomed to watch death over and over again that night.

Before he left the room, he paused at the door, not turning to face her. "Just so you know, the Dark Lord said father will be brought home shortly. A reward for my service."

He did not have to say that he would have preferred Bailey and her family staying alive and safe. Narcissa did not have to answer for him to know that she felt much the same.

After her son left, Narcissa picked up the bracelet, turning the bracelet over in her hands and her mind. The crest and chain were identical to her own, as was the Slytherin crest charm and the Prefect charm. There was also a dog, a potions bottle, and even a small sheep among others. Sixteen charms—her father had not been there three days ago to give her the seventeenth. Narcissa should have stepped in and fulfilled that duty. A pang shot through her heart as she thought of the small moonstone charm that she had bought the girl, to commemorate all the break-throughs she had made in her potions research.

As Narcissa sat there, trying to grieve her young niece, the girl she had come to think of as a daughter, she found herself unable to quite weep. Something other than the obvious did not feel right to Narcissa, though the witch could not quite place why as she turned the bracelet over and over in her hand. Finally, it struck her.

The bracelet was unclasped.

No one without Black blood could unclasp these bracelets. It had been a way to ensure that no husband could completely take a Black woman's autonomy from her, and it had continued as so strong a tradition that not even Narcissa's wayward little cousin had been able to resist it. Unless Draco had had a bigger part in his cousin's murder than he had admitted—doubtful, as she could always tell when her son was lying, his voice always went purposefully deeper—or her sister had been the one to bring back the 'trophy'—again doubtful, as Bella would have brought back something more gruesome as proof—there was no conceivable way that the bracelet could have been unclasped.

Unless it was by Bailey herself.

Narcissa gave a small gasp of realization, looking around herself furtively as though to make sure she was alone. She grasped the bracelet tightly in her hand, tight enough for it to leave indents in her skin, bringing it to her lips to kiss it. Then, she walked to her boudoir, dropping the bracelet into her jewelry case, before casting the tightest wards she knew on the small box.

Though the funeral held for Dumbledore the day previous had only grass for any green, the funeral for the last of the Blacks was somehow swimming with Slytherins, despite the muggle setting. Blaise could recognize Theo and Millicent from their own class in the crowd, as well as some younger years that he vaguely remembered following Bailey around like ducklings to learn their ways around the castle. It was much easier to focus on which of his classmates were there than what was going on around him.

Amelia, for her part, had not stopped crying since they had arrived at the little muggle church in the Irish countryside. It seemed that being at the funeral, seeing the caskets that held little else but ash and bone, had finally cured Amelia of repeating that the whole situation was impossible. Blaise's shirt sleeve was soaked through, but he had yet to shed a tear since they had arrived. The last time he had seen her flashed through his mind.

 _"_ _Promise me we'll have a second chance. Promise me you'll stay safe."_

 _"_ _I promise."_

He should have known she was lying. He had known her for six years, been in love with her for nearly as long; he should have known she was lying. He should not have sent her to Snape, the self-serving bastard, he should have helped her himself. His family had properties all over the Continent, with enchantments not even the likes of the Dark Lord could breach. He should have taken her and run until the entire war blew over.

There were three caskets at the front of the church—two the standard size and the third heart-breakingly small. Blaise had to force himself to turn away from the sight, unable to keep looking at the little that remained of his best friend, the love of his life.

Amelia continued to sob into his shoulder.

"How did I not See this coming? What good is having the Sight if I can't stop horrible things like this?" she demanded softly into his shoulder. He placed a hand on her shoulder.

"You know that's not how it works, 'Melia," he said gruffly.

The girl had once worked herself into a weeks-long depression after not predicting her kitten's death by way of a bird-of-prey. There was no telling how she would be in the coming weeks after this. And Blaise would be strong for his remaining friend, he had to. Draco, the coward, had disappeared since Dumbledore's death, likely to join the Dark Lord and the other Death Eaters.

Or to capture the defector, his cousin.

Blaise forced himself to shut that voice down. Surely if Draco had known that Bailey was being targeted, he would have warned her. He would not have participated in the slaughter of her and her remaining family. Though a coward, Draco Malfoy did believe in family loyalty.

Right?

Blaise did not have any more time to think on it, for Potter had approached him and Amelia. The Boy Who Lived looked decidedly worse for the wear, as though he had neither slept nor showered in days. Frankly, he looked how Blaise would have if not for his Pureblood upbringing and its strict views on appearances.

"Hey, Zabini, Blackwood," Potter began awkwardly. "Kinda surprised to see you here."

"You were the one who came and told us what had happened," Blaise replied.

"Still, just surprised at all the Slytherins here," he said, rubbing the back of his neck.

"We knew her much longer than you, Potter," Amelia spat, her usual polite façade lost in the face of grief.

"Then why is Malfoy not here?" he said snidely. "Oh, that's right, he was probably one of the ones—"

"Shut up, Potter," Blaise said, yanking up his sleeve and gesturing for Amelia to do the same. " _We_ are not serving the Dark Lord. Now, what do you want?"

He seemed to deflate a little. "Did she… did she know this was coming? I tried to ask her if they were safe—" he trailed off sadly. Blaise remembered her having said once, when it all came out, that she had had to Obliviate a couple of people. Had Potter been one of them?

"We don't know any more than you, Potter," Amelia said rather more roughly than Blaise had ever heard her speak before.

"Yeah… well… thanks anyway," he muttered morosely before slinking away to join Professor Lupin at the front of the church. The two men grasped each other around the shoulders and held on for dear life.

"I'm alone again," Harry mumbled into his mentor's shabby sports coat.

"No, Harry," Remus responded. "I am still here. Your other friends are here—I promise you are not alone."

Harry looked out the window to the freshly dug graves and for a split second, he thought that he saw his godsister. That he was not alone. But, before he could even blink, Minerva Bailey Ann Black was gone.

Blaise dropped Amelia off at her brother's flat, who, though he cared for Bailey a great deal and had sent a lovely bouquet, had not come to the funeral. Michael Blackwood had always had an unhealthy fear of death, ever since he was a child, having gone to a distant relative's funeral who was not so much dead, as it were, but _un_ dead.

"Michael! Michael, I'm home!" Amelia called as she walked into the flat. She nearly tripped over some boxes that were sitting just in front of the door. "What the hell is this?"

"How many times have I told you, it's Mikey!" he elder brother said with his usual playful smirk. At her doleful stare, he sobered up a little. "How are you?"

Amelia ignored the question.

"What are you doing? Why is everything in boxes?" she asked again.

"I'm leaving England," her brother said simply. Amelia stepped back.

"What?"

"After… what happened… and I'm still trying to keep from having to fully say no to _them_ …" her brother trailed off. "You know Mother and Father have already left for their properties in Germany. So—I'm leaving, getting out of the country. And I think you should too."

Amelia gaped at her brother. "Leaving England? Like going to the Continent?"

Her brother chewed his lip. "No… I was thinking further. Like…"

"Like what?" she demanded, the emotion of the day causing everything to so much _more_.

He gave her a cautious look. "Like America."

Amelia clamped her mouth closed, shaking her head as she marched off to her room, imagining all the ways she would hurt her brother should he have packed one single _thing_ …

"Lya, Lya, wait! Where are you going? It's a good idea!" he called after her. She was almost at the door to her room when he grabbed her by the wrist, forcing her to stay put.

"Lya, listen to me!"

"I just got back from the funeral of my best friend and her entire family and spring on me that you want to move to America?" she screeched. "Is there anything that works above your neck! Or is all brainpower reserved for what's below your waist?"

Mikey winced. "Oi, too far—"

"I'll tell you what is too far—bloody America!" she shouted.

"Amelia, please, I know that it's been a rough day—"

"A rough day?" she cried. "A rough _day_? A rough day is breaking a fingernail or, or the boy you like kissing a different girl not—not—"

Despite herself, Amelia felt tears begin to pour down her face again, thinking of the three caskets that she had watched be lowered into the ground. It just wasn't _fair_. Bailey was not the one who was supposed to die. She was supposed to be alive, to grow old, have a family with Blaise…

Amelia felt her big brother's arms wrap around her, pulling her in close like she was little after a nightmare. He softly stroked the sides of her arms, his voice rumbling in his chest soothingly, even as Amelia continued to become more and more hysterical. After a long while, when her throat burned and her eyes itched, her sobs faded into hiccups, though Mikey made no move to step away.

"I'm sorry, I shouldn't have brought it up tonight," he said. "That was stupid. You take as long as you need to decide. I just want us to get through this war safe."

"What even is safe?" Amelia said bitterly, thinking of her visions. Mikey tensed, obviously concerned. "It's been a long day. I'm going to bed."

Without allowing her brother to say another word, Amelia turned and walked into her room, which had mercifully been left out of her brother's packing frenzy. She collapsed into her bed, not even caring to take off her clothes for the first time in her life. What was the use in sleeping clothes when she doubted she would sleep any way.

Her mind was in a state of chaos and emotion. It was as though a horrendous battle was raging inside her head when all she wanted was peace. Each new thought of Bailey and the war was like a physical blow, so hard that the world was fading to black… colors swirling around her… flashes of light… screams…

 _"_ _No, 'Melia, don' go! Yeh're no' dyin' on me 'ere!"_

Amelia shot awake at the sound of her best friend's voice. There was just a hint of grey light outside her window and her robes and hair were mussed; she must have fallen asleep at some point in the night. Wrinkling her nose at the ruined robes, she Banished them with a wave of her wand in favor of some soft silk pajamas and a plush house robe. She tied it tightly around her waist and went out to sit on her brother's couch, sinking into the soft cushions.

The Visions were still showing Bailey in the future, but that was simply not possible. So, then, were they wrong? Horrible things were yet to come in the war; that she knew without having the Sight. But, perhaps that one little thing, that one little life was now to be spared. With Bailey gone, it did not make sense. She knew that in her gut. So then, her Sight had to be telling her wrongly.

Amelia felt a sick sort of hope spring in her gut, one that she hated herself for. But, she could not deny it. She was a Slytherin; it was in her nature to be self-preserving. So when Mikey stumbled out of his room to make himself some tea later that morning when the sun was fully streaming in the windows, she had made her decision.

"I'm staying," she told her older brother. "I'm finishing Hogwarts and I'm waiting this war out. In my homeland."


	3. Not All Is

That afternoon, when Mikey had gone out to make "arrangements" ( _likely saying goodbye to his many girlfriends_ , Amelia thought derisively), Amelia immediately got on the floo to Blaise.

"'Lo?" his tired voice came, quickly accompanied by his haggard looking face. There were dark circles under his eyes and he had obviously not shaved in a few days. Amelia wrinkled her nose; she could only imagine the reek of alcohol that must have been coming off him if she had been there with him.

"Blaise… dare I ask… are you hungover?" she said trepidatiously. He gave her a small grin.

"Nope," he replied, popping the 'p'.

"Good, because I had a rather large favor to discuss with—"

"Not yet!" he exclaimed cockily. Amelia sighed.

"Is your mother there?" she asked.

"Nah, she's off finding husband number twelve!" he said with a drunken chuckle. "Told 'er she needed to make this one stick or she'd be facing unlucky number thirteen!"

That, for some reason, made her friend dissolve into giggles. Amelia sighed, knowing what she needed to do.

"Alright, stay right there. I'm coming over."

Pulling her head out of the fireplace, Amelia went to her room, quickly gathering all her belongings with a flick of her wand before leaving a note for her brother on where she had gone on the fridge. Then, she was back at the fireplace, calling Blaise again.

"Alright, Zabini," she said. "Let me through the wards right quick."

In moments, she stood in front of him, brushing the dust off her robes primly as she held her trunk in one hand. Blaise was slumped in one of the kitchen chairs, head lolled back with a stubborn frown on his face. He turned and looked at her.

"Why you got your trunk, Blackwood?" he said in a slow drawl. Amelia placed her hands on her hips.

"Well, at first, I was going to ask you to do me the favor of living here until school started, as my brother is off to America and my parents are on the Continent. But now I do believe I'm the one about to do you a favor," she said. "So tell me, are you going to drink the Sober-Up Potion I give you or will I have to force it down your throat?"

"Amelia!" Mikey's voice bellowed from the fireplace. Amelia sighed. She had just convinced Blaise to take a shower and a nap after having forced him to drink two bottles of Sober-Up Potion and then hiding all alcohol bottles in the manor home. She could use a bath and a nap herself, not her elder brother.

"Hello, Michael, good afternoon to you too," she said sarcastically as she knelt down primly in front of the fireplace.

"You just left a note that you were going to Zabini's?" he cried. "What the hell?"

Amelia sighed. "I had meant to tell you when you got back—"

"But you didn't—"

"You knew I was going to stay in Britain—"

"I thought I might still be able to convince you otherwise—" Mikey cut her off. She grit her teeth.

"Well, you were never going to and I—"

"Merlin, 'Melia, aren't you still betrothed—"

"To a Death Eater who until very recently I thought of as another brother—"

"What kind of rumors are going to circulate about you living with _Blaise Zabini_ —" he sneered. She felt her cheeks go red as she was filled with the type of righteous anger that she assumed Gryffindors must feel on a daily basis.

"Certainly none worse than the rumors that are true about you—"

"You are smarter—"

"You're really one to talk, Michael—going off to live in _America_ —"

"I asked you to come with me! You should come with me!"

"He did what?" a new voice said in the background. Amelia turned to face Blaise. He looked slightly more human than before; his face was once again clean-shaven, he no longer had the unmistakable signs of drunkenness. Yet, he still had large circles under his eyes. Amelia knew that those would not be so easy to take away.

"I told Amelia she should come with me to America," Mikey said in the grate of the fireplace, derision clear in his tone. "But she refused, even knowing what is going on now in Britain."

Blaise furrowed his eyebrows. "Why would you stay here if you could go with Mikey?"

"That's what I'm asking!"

"Well why are you staying here?" Amelia demanded. She almost immediately wished she had not when she saw the shadows flicker over his eyes.

"Because," he said petulantly. "But you—your family is already left or leaving, your betrothed in love with someone else—"

"Hold up— _Malfoy_ has a _girlfriend_?" Mikey exclaimed.

"Yes, it really doesn't matter," Amelia said dismissively, focusing on Blaise.

"Like hell it doesn't!" he shouted. "The bastard is betrothed to my sister and gallivanting about—"

"Mikey!" Amelia shouted. "I said drop it! I'm more concerned about the fact that he bloody did nothing to stop the murder of our best friend, his own family!"

Her brother was silent after that. Blaise, for his part, had gone still, his jaw taut and his eyes squeezed closed. He seemed to be having a hard time controlling his breathing as Amelia watched. She stepped closer to him, placing her hand on his shoulder.

"Blaise?" she said slowly.

"You should go to America with your brother," he said before turning on his heel and marching off to what she assumed was his room. She fought the urge to go after him, not turning back to face her brother in the fireplace.

"Amelia? Please," he said. "I know that I went about it poorly, but I really, really want you to come with me. I don't want to have to attend your funeral."

Amelia turned and faced her brother, a small teasing smirk on her face. "I promise I won't come back as a vampire and if I do, you have my full permission to stab me through the heart with a wooden stake."

"That's not funny, Lya," he said, frowning.

"It's a little funny," she replied. He frowned at her deeper.

She sighed, looking at him. It made more sense for her to go to America; she would be safer there. But, then she would have no chance to finish school, which was more important to her than she would like to admit. She would be leaving Blaise on her own, when she knew that he was at his most vulnerable and most likely to go out and do something unbearably rash in the name of revenge. That, and it would mean she would have no way to take revenge for her friends' death, the death that was never supposed to happen. And, deep inside her, there was a niggling little voice that told her she had to stay. Fate would not allow her to leave Britain during the War; that was not the way things were supposed to go. She had her own part to play in the grand scheme of things and as a Seer she of all people had no choice but to do as Fate directed. Even if it seemed that her Sight was playing tricks on her.

"I wish I could say yes, Mikey," she finally said. "I really do. But—I just can't. I can't leave Blaise alone like this. Not right now. And beyond that—I just feel that I should be staying in Britain. That is the way things are meant to be."

Mikey narrowed his eyes at her. "There's not something you're not telling me, right?"

Amelia thought of her dreams, of her dying in the middle of battle at Hogwarts. But in those dreams, Bailey was there. The whole thing was ludicrous; why would the Dark Lord bring battle to Hogwarts now that Dumbledore was dead, anyway? She had no need to tell her big brother about it. He would only worry needlessly.

"No Mikey, there is nothing," she assured.

"Well, alright then," he said hesitantly. "I'll try and see you again before I leave. When I do, the flat will go under your name."

Amelia smiled. "Thanks, Mikey."

"You're my little sister," he replied. "What else could I do?"

She smiled. "Goodbye, Michael."

"Bye, Lya."

She ended the floo connection and went upstairs to Blaise's room. When her soft knock went unanswered, she opened the door on her own. What she saw made her eyes widen in shock.

Almost every piece of moveable furniture—the desk chair, the nightstand, the two leather armchairs—were upturned. Books had been knocked off their shelves, artwork torn and crumpled lying on the floor. It looked as though the entire war had taken place in Blaise's room. In the middle of all sat Blaise on the floor, staring emptily at an old moving picture. Amelia's eyes filled with tears as she recognized as the one she had taken when Bailey had returned to them after being Petrified. She watched at the little second threw her arms around Blaise's neck over and over.

"'Thought you were headed to America," Blaise mumbled. Amelia shook her head before walking over slowly and kneeling beside him.

"There's more important things to do here," she said, leaning her head against his shoulder. The two friends sat in silence staring at an old picture for a long time.

George locked up the shop rather more aggressively than necessary. He had snapped at his twin today, a highly unusual occurrence for the pair. Fred had then decided to go to the Leaky Cauldron so as to give George his space. In all the articles about Dumbledore's death, a smaller headline had escaped Fred's notice; it had not George's.

 _Remaining Blacks Found Dead After Fatal Fire_

George turned suddenly and punched the wall of his shop. She had tried to run, he knew it. In the end, Bailey Black was no Death Eater, no killer, despite the Mark on her left arm. But, for all of her Slytherin cunning and planning, she had not been able to escape the wrath of You-Know-Who. Maybe if he had forced her to… what? She would have just been dead three months earlier.

He felt a strange prickling sensation at the back of his neck and quickly spun around, wand in hand. There was a figure in a black cloak with the hood drawn up, carrying a small bundle.

"Reveal yourself, or I attack to kill."

"No wands, please!" a voice shouted. "There's a wee 'un!"

George immediately dropped his wand arm. He knew that voice; could it really be—?

"B—"

"Before yeh open yer mouth, we need to get inside," the voice ordered snarkily, stepping a little further out of the shadows. "If you need convincin', yeh still owe me abou' three more Skivin' Snack Boxes."

George quickly ushered her inside, hardly daring to believe it while praying to Merlin that it was real.

"Wha—how—the Prophet says you are dead!"

"Yeah, well, since when 'as the Prophet been a reliable source o' news?" she said, taking down her hood. A girl dark hair and grey eyes with a baby sound asleep in her arms stood before him. Both were very much alive.

It was Bailey Black, with her baby brother.


	4. As It Seems

**_A/N: Hey all! Sorry, this chapter is a little late. I may be moving to an every-other-week schedule, as I've had some interested life updates this week. 1) I'm now costuming for 2 children's plays this fall with a local theatre & 2) I will now be teaching my own sewing class at my work! So, if any of you would like to learn how to sew your own A-line skirt and are living in the Louisville area, PM me! (Lol, shameless plug there.)_**

 ** _Anywho, I really like the new version of this chapter, and this story in general. Much more detailed, much more of an ensemble piece. Please review to let me know what you think!_**

 _A few nights previous_

Bailey already had all her belongings packed by the time the rest of the girls filtered into their dorm that night. As soon as she heard voices outside the door, she jumped in her bed, waving her wand to firmly shut the curtains around her.

"… and then Theo pulled me over to the little alcove just outside the dungeons and…"

The words were followed by shrieks and giggles that Bailey would normally have been a part of, but it was not a normal night.

"Shh! Bailey is already asleep!" she heard Amelia's voice admonish.

"So? It's barely past curfew!"

"She's having a rough day," Amelia replied. "We should give her her peace."

The girls quieted to whispers but Bailey waited until all she heard were soft snores and evened-out breathing before she dared move, retrieving her bag and her father's motorcycle, shrunk to pocket size, from underneath her bed. Already fully dressed in some old jeans and an old Sex Pistols concert shirt that was equally likely to have belonged to her father or her mother at one time, Bailey snuck out of the girls' dorm.

When she got to the Common Room and looked to her left, she caught another grey-eyed stare, the little bit of light left to them glinting off of his pale hair.

"Draco," she breathed.

"Bailey," he said nervously. "I was—"

"It doesn't matter," Bailey said dismissively. Then, unexpectedly even to herself, she strode purposefully across the room and embraced her cousin. He stiffened at first, then relaxed into her hug.

"What was that for?" he said gruffly. She could tell he was trying to cover whatever emotion he might have been feeling. The thought almost made her smile.

"Whatever happens tonight," she said. "We're still family. What happened to the previous generation of Blacks is not happening to us, got it?"

Draco gave her a hard look, then nodded. "I don't think I could get rid of you if I tried," he said.

Bailey gave a small smile, then gestured to the Common Room door. "After you."

"Ladies first."

"That's what I said."

Giving her a playful glare, Draco left the room. Bailey gave him a few moments, neither wanting to know where he had gone, nor wanting him to see where she went. The rest of the way out of the castle she did not see anyone, mercifully. She refused to turn back, even at the cry of "Morsmordre!" and kept walking until she reached the gate, resizing her motorcycle and hopping on. She was in the sky in time to see what looked to be a person falling out of the Astronomy Tower.

"Just go, Bailey," she murmured to herself, revving the motorbike and flying into the night.

All was quiet when she arrived at Grimmauld Place. She resized the motorbike and placed it in her pocket before going up the stairs to her mother's room, where the baby still slept in his bassinet. She crept into the room, placing a hand over her mother's mouth before shaking her awake. Tilly looked up at her with big blue eyes wide with fear.

"Shh, I'll explain later," _one last lie_ , "but you have to get up an' come with me. Quickly."

"Bailey, wha' in the name o' all tha' is holy—"

"Quickly, Mum!" Bailey snapped. "Where is the baby's diaper bag? Here's your duffel."

"Minerva Bailey Ann, what do you think—"

"Mum, please," Bailey begged. "Something is happenin' and we have to get you an' Gussy out o' the country. So pack."

"Me an' Gussy? If we're leavin', then you an' Harry best be comin' with us!"

"O' course," Bailey said, daring her voice to crack. "We just have to go somewhere first."

"Go somewhere? Bailey yeh're no' makin' any sense! I—"

"We have to go to Fleecewood first."

As soon as the little family arrived at Fleecewood, Bailey ushered her mum and the baby out to the little cellar beneath the hay shed in the back of the farmhouse.

"Bailey, yeh have to tell me now—"

"Mum, I would if I could, but there's no time," she said. "Now, I just need you and Gussy to stay very quiet until I come back. Can you do that?"

"I'm a Squib, not a chil' Bailey Anne," her mother said in a warning tone. Bailey ducked her head sheepishly.

"I know," she said. Then, almost hesitantly, she pulled a bottle out of her robe pocket. "Take this."

"What is it?" her mother said warily.

"A small Protection Concotion," Bailey replied. "Can't risk doing too much magic right now—still two days till me birthday. I've already had some, now you take it. But don't give Gussy any, he's still too young."

"Bailey, what is going on? Have you—"

"If Draco's plan succeed tonight, Dumbledore will be dead," Bailey said bluntly. "That leave you and Gussy with even less protection than you had. So, I doin' wha' I can to keep the both o' yeh safe."

Finally it seemed that Tilly had understood the seriousness of what was going on. She nodded and handed Gussy over to Bailey before tumping back the potion like she was taking a shot. Knowing what would happen, as Snape had warned her, Bailey turned and sat Gussy on the floor of the cellar just in time for her mother's face to go white and for her to collapse. Bailey caught her just in time, lowering her safely to the ground.

"Wha' the—Bailey wha' is this?" her mother groaned, clutching her head.

"I'm sorry, Mum, it's fer the best," Bailey said softly, forcing herself to hold back the tears. As soon as Tilly passed out completely, Bailey tilted a silvery looking potion down her throat—false memories so that Tilly would know where she was when she woke up, but would not know any of her family. "It's fer the best," Bailey whispered to herself again.

Knowing she was running short on time, Bailey pulled out a small key ring that would open the door to her mother's new flat in Canada, as well as all her other necessary documents in order to make a living there. She placed it gently in her mother's hand, not wanting to watch when the Portkey flashed blue and sent her mother away from her for good.

She sighed and turned toward Gussy.

"Just you and me for now, baby brother," she whispered. It had to be like this. When the Death Eaters arrived, they would sense two magical signatures, though Bailey had confused the wards enough that they would simply assume that the signatures were inside the house. They would also think that Bailey's mum was there; after all, what mother would be without her three-month-old by choice?

Bailey watched through the slats of the cellar door, a tug in her navel telling her that the constructs she and Professor Snape had created were holding up well within the house. She clutched her baby brother to her when she heard the first cracks of Apparition in the yard.

"Yoo-hoo, baby Black!" she heard Bellatrix's sing-song voice from outside. "Come out, come out to play!"

Gussy had woken up and Bailey could tell he was ready to begin crying. She bounced him softly, beginning to sing an old lullaby her mum had used to soothe her when she was a child.

 _"_ _My bonnie lies over the ocean,_

 _"_ _My bonnie lies over the sea—"_

"Come out, Miss Black," she heard her mentor call. "Don't make things worse on yourself!"

"Give it up, Snape, we all know she is too cowardly to do what needs to be done!" Bellatrix hissed. "It's time to end this line of the Black family tree— _Ignis vivit_!"

Gussy gave a small cry at the whoosh of flames outside, but his little voice was covered by the roar of flames engulfing the house and the screams of the "occupants" inside. Bailey closed her eyes against the glare coming in through the slats of the cellar, bouncing her baby brother more to soothe him. It was extremely unnerving, hearing the cires in the flames as well as the small mewls in her ear.

 _"_ _My bonnie lies over the ocean,_

 _"_ _Oh, bring back my bonnie to me!"_

She could hear Bellatrix cackling madly outside, as well as the jeers of other Death Eaters. She wondered who all was out there but dared not take a glance outside.

 _"_ _You will stay in the cellar until I come and get you,"_ Snape had said. " _No foolish Gryffindor antics._ "

Bailey bit back the tears and the fear that was threatening to consume her. She had no doubt that had she not faked her death, she and her family would be being tortured for real in that moment. She was doing what she had to in order to survive, even if that meant burning the remnants of her life herself. Gussy would not settle in her arms, sensing the fear and the lack of his mother.

 _"_ _Bring back, bring back,_

 _"_ _Oh, bring back my bonnie to me, to me!"_

She just had to wait. In the morning, it would all be over. Snape would take her to a hiding place for a few days until she could smuggle Gussy out of the country. And after that, despite what her mentor thought, she would be making her own way; she would make amends for her many wrongs, doing her part to make sure that her godbrother won this war.

Tilly and Gussy would be coming home.

" _Bring back, bring back,_

 _"_ _Oh, bring back my bonnie to me!"_

 _Present Day_

George couldn't restrain himself; he grabbed Bailey and clutched her tight to his chest until the baby between them began to fuss loudly to be freed from between them. He released her, still grasping her shoulders tightly as she bounced to calm her baby brother.

George began to babble. "Bailey—you can't be here—it's not safe—You-Know-Who is after you—"

"Yes, an' 'e's after me Mum an' brother now," she said, keeping her eyes trained on the child as though she could not bear to look at George. "I've got to get 'em to safety and then… I've got to pay fer me stupidity. I need yer help first, though."

"What do you need me to do?" George asked, straightening.

"Yeh're better at glamour charms than I am," she admitted. He snickered, only just refraining from asking how bitter that admission tasted. She glared at him as though she could read exactly what he was thinking. "I need yeh to make Gussy look like a Blackwood—with the strongest, most long-lasting glamours yeh can manage. Merlin 'imself shouldn' be able to break 'em."

George nodded; she certainly did not ask small favors. "Alright, but why?"

"Mikey Blackwood is leavin' the country in less than a week to escape the war—he is no fighter, despite wha' the Death Eaters think. He won't make it if 'e waits tha' long," she said.

"Still doesn't explain things."

Bailey smirked. "You know his reputation, yeah? No one would question an illegitimate chil' bein' left on ' _is_ doorstep. Tha' shoul' kick 'is arse into gear to leave immediately."

George laughed despite himself. "Alright, let's do it."

She bit her lip nervously, looking away as her eyes seemed to glisten.

"One more thing—I need yeh to take 'im there, too," she said. "I need yeh to take 'im to Mikey's flat. I—I can' see 'im after you put the glamours on 'im. It's too dangerous; my Occlumency is decent, bu' not good enough fer the Dark Lord."

She seemed ready to sob as she laid the baby in George's arms, not waiting for his answer as though she'd lose her nerve. Little Gussy Black began to whimper as he left his sister's arms. His cries seemed to physically hurt Bailey as she forced herself not to immediately take him back. She pulled out a small bottle.

"After you drop 'im off, take this—it's fer yer own safety," she said. George looked at it suspiciously as he bounced to calm the crying child in his arms.

"What is it?" he asked, watching her face very carefully for the truth.

"Newly developed potion," she said slowly. "Don' worry, I used it on me Mum—it helps yer mental barriers against a Legilimens."

"Then why don't you just use it?"

"Allergic to one o' the ingredients—won' tell yeh which one, yeh wouldn' want to drink it."

He ignored her bait, focusing on how quickly the words had flown from her mouth.

"Why do I get the feeling you're hiding something?"

She smirked. "I don' share all o' me plans with anyone. No' only is it dangerous fer me, but fer them too."

George frowned. "You know the Order could take you all in, I never told them—"

"If the Order wouldn' keep me Da' safe, why would I trust 'em with the rest o' me family? It's bad enough they got me godbrother," she snapped, eyes flashing dangerously.

"C'mon, Bails—"

"An' even if I could trust 'em, the Order 'as wards against everyone with a Dark Mark. Tha' includes me," she said more softly, shaking her head. "Just please, take care o' Gussy. An'… take care o' yerself, George Weasley."

Before George could give anymore protests, Bailey gently kissed the top of her brother's downy hair, a single tear landing on the crown of his head. Then, she was gone.

He did exactly as she asked, staying up half the night to make sure that Merlin himself could not break the glamors placed on the baby. All the while, Gussy screamed for his lost family; George agreed with the little tyke. The prankster stood in front of Mikey Blackwood's flat, guarding the baby until he was brought inside by the bachelor safely. Finally, George Apparated back to his own flat, directly into his bedroom. With some trepidation, he pulled out the potion vial Bailey had given him.

"Bottoms up," he muttered dryly to himself before downing its contents. There was a brief sensation of warmth, then of burning pain so horrible that he stumbled backwards, falling ungracefully into his bed.

"Bloody f—"

He didn't finish his statement before the world turned black.

George groaned as he woke up, rubbing his grainy eyes. The light streaming in the windows did nothing to alleviate his massive hangover.

 _Hangover? I don't remember drinking._

He almost gasped in pain when he did remember the events of the previous day. Bailey was dead. Bailey and her entire family—wiped out in one single night. The pain was close to unbearable. If only he had known what was going through her head after Sirius' death—maybe he could have been able to stop her from going to the Death Eaters, they would still be together, she would still be well and alive—

His 'if only's were interrupted by a knock on the door. Fred stuck his head into the room.

"Hey Georgie," he said trepidatiously. "I'm sorry about last night. Tensions have been getting high lately and I didn't realize about Bla—"

George cut his brother's apology off flinging both arms around him and sobbing mightily into his twin's shoulder. Fred patted his back, comforting him in the way that only his twin knew how.

That same day, Mikey Blackwood moved his plans up to escape to America. With a son, he could not wait any longer in Britain. He left right then.


	5. Family Reunion

**A/N: So I did get a chapter up after all! I'm headed to vacation (GOING TO HARRY POTTER WORLD!) in a few days, so there may not be an update next week. Please, if you're enjoying the story, review. I love reviews. Lets me know that someone is out there, lol.**

 **Anywho, hope you enjoy!**

"Michael! Please answer!" Amelia called through the fireplace for the fifth time that day. She had been checking in with her brother roughly every other day since she had moved in with Blaise, though there were only a few days left before her brother left for America. She huffed irritably and pulled her head out of the grate.

"He still not answering?" Blaise asked, wandering into the kitchen behind her. This time, he had at least managed to put on a houserobe over his t-shirt and boxer shorts. Amelia kept reminding herself that baby steps were the name of the game when it came to bringing Blaise back into proper society.

"No, he's not," Amelia said, walking over to the hatstand where her travelling cloak hung—charmed to never wrinkle or attract ash in the Floo—and whirling it around her shoulders. "I'm going there to check on him."

Blaise seemed to hesitate. "Are you sure—"

"He's my brother," she said. "Merlin only knows what sort of nonsense he might have got himself into."

"Alright, then I'm coming with you," he said decisively. Amelia blinked in surprise before schooling herself; it would not do to allow Blaise to sink back into his melancholy by calling attention to it.

"Not dressed like that," she quipped, flicking her wand at him. Within a few moments his boxers and t-shirt had been covered by smart trousers and a simple button-up, his house robe into fine wizard's robes of dark purple that complimented his skin tone nicely.

Blaise rolled his eyes at his new ensemble. "Really 'Melia. We're going to your brother's house, not the bloody Ministry of Magic' ball."

"I'm just going to pretend that you did not just say something so asinine," she replied snootily, nose in the air.

"Snob," he muttered. She chose to ignore his mutterings and instead grabbed a handful of floo powder.

"423 Q Diagon Alley, Michael Blackwood's Residence!" she called smartly. Blaise was right behind her.

When she arrived, the air felt cold. Whether it was her Seer abilities or something else, she was not sure, but she _knew_ that her brother no longer resided in that flat. She took a few steps into the living area, pausing at the ridiculous dancing Bacchus statue that her brother had insisted on buying as soon as he was living on his own. She touched it briefly. Almost immediately, a small folded piece of parchment appeared, taped on the statue in an unspeakable place. Amelia rolled her eyes and Blaise snorted. She gingerly removed it.

"Salazar, 'Melia, it's marble. It won't bite," Blaise snickered. Amelia shushed him, glancing over the note.

"I don't understand," she said. "He wasn't going to leave for another four days!"

Blaise frowned and plucked the letter from her hands, reading it himself. "Erm—'Melia—you might want to finish the letter."

Amelia took it back from him. "That's what I was trying to do, you inconside—" she trailed off, her jaw dropping at the rest of the letter. "By Salazar, the oaf had a child!"

Blaise seemed to want to laugh but did not seem to quite know how.

"Looks that way," he replied.

Amelia just shook her head as the two flooed back to Zabini Manor, Amelia immediately burning the letter her brother had asked her to. Yet, something just did not sit right with her. All of her Senses had once pointed to the end of the line of House Blackwood; how was it that her brother—lecherous that he was—somehow had a child?

Amelia did not know how she knew, but she knew that she was not an Aunt.

Bailey slumped against the door of 12 Grimmauld Place, closing her eyes tightly against the overwhelming desire to cry. Now that her mother was memoryless and her baby brother unrecognizable, though both undeniably safer than they had been, her actions over the past year could fully sink in. And she hated herself for them.

There were people dead because of her. There were werewolves—including the one who had bit her godfather—more in control and more fearsome than ever before. There were prisoners being tortured, families being killed because of her.

" _Severus Snape!"_ a voice suddenly shouted. Bailey jumped up, wand in hand. The dusty figure of Albus Dumbledore was rushing towards her. She screamed in horror.

"I did nothing to you!"

The figure of the old man with arms outstretched exploded into a cloud of dust just before it reached her. She coughed, struggling to regain her breath.

 _"_ _Filthy blood traitors, let into my home! That my blood had produced such filth—"_

"Shutup!" Bailey roared, just as her father used to. She pointed her wand at the curtains on her grandmother's portrait, slamming them shut with one flick. She breathed a sigh of relief when it was quiet once again.

"Kreacher?" she called out nervously, unsure whether she really wanted to see the elf or not. It was too late, anyway, for the old elf had appeared with a crack.

"So, young Mistress _is_ still alive. Kreacher had hoped it was not so. Mistress will be so disappointed—"

"Shut yer mouth an' take me bag upstairs," she snapped, handing the leather satchel that she had packed at Hogwarts what seemed like a million years ago. "Be sure that my room is cleaned and prepared. Leave my father's alone. Close it off—I don' want to see it."

The elf sneered at her. "Kreacher lives to serve the Noble House of Black."

That taken care of, Bailey went immediately to the library to find the book she needed— _The Practice of the Most Noble Family Tree_. She pulled it out and flipped to Chapter Fourteen—Pruning.

 _The tree must be kept toujours pur. Just as one must trim the sick branches_

 _of a tree in a garden, so must one prune the traitors of their blood from the Ancient_

 _and Most Noble Houses. To this end, one may use the curse "amputema" to remove_

 _these sick branches._

 _However, pure blood is too costly to allow prodigal sons to languish outside_

 _of the family. Should one such son or daughter see the error of their ways, use the_

 _charm "restituere" to allow these healed branches back into their natural place at_

 _the top of the natural hierarchy._

With a grim smile, Bailey marched to the room where her grandmother kept her precious Black family tree. She pointed directly at Bellatrix's face and said clearly " _Amputema_ ". Then, she pointed it at Lucius, at her grandmother, at her grandfather, repeating the word with more and more righteous retribution. But, when she pointed at the burn mark that masked her father's name, she gave a genuine smile.

" _Restituere_ ," she whispered with a smile. As if that one word had given her new joy and energy, she pointed it at her mother, Andromeda, Tonks, Alphard, Phineas II and so on until she had restored every burn mark that her grandmother and every other prejudiced ancestor had made.

Finally, she turned her wand to a face near the bottom of the tree. A young girl, pale faced and frizzy-haired, looked up at her with a sly smirk on her face.

 _Minerva Bailey Anne Black_

 _29 June 1980-_

 _Head of House_

" _Amputema_ ," she said with such loathing in her voice that she almost sounded like her grandmother.

The burn mark left behind left behind put any of her grandmother's to shame, extending beyond her face and name to hide away the connecting line to her parents, even so far as to almost touch Gussy's spot. But, somehow, the "Head of House" moniker managed to escape her wrath.

It didn't matter. Her reparations had begun.

Both Narcissa and Draco stood in the Drawing Room, waiting before the Dark Lord. Narcissa, ever the good aristocrat, let not one bit of fear show on her face. Her son was doing much the same.

Finally, the door opened, and two masked men walked in, dumping what looked like a lump of cloth and bones in front of the Dark Lord. The wizard smiled.

"Ah, Lucius, my old friend," he said. "Returned to us at last. What a happy day."

Narcissa felt more than saw Draco's nervous gulp as the Dark Lord embraced her husband. Her stomach churned.

"Thank you, my lord, for my freedom and reuniting me with my family," Lucius simpered, bowed low before the snake-like man. Narcissa could barely recognize him as the proud man who she had married, the man who insisted just a few years before that they absolutely had to bring the albino peacocks to the Quidditch World Cup, just to show off the proud Malfoy line.

"The thanks ought go to your son, who in one night helped bring down our greatest enemy and brought justice to a traitor to the cause," the Dark Lord said with a tone of fatherly pride. Narcissa grasped Draco's hand, giving him a brief squeeze before releasing him. The Dark Lord glanced at them. "I think I shall leave you to your family, Lucius. I am sure you have much to catch up on."

"Thank you, my lord," Lucius said again. Both Narcissa and Draco muttered the same as the dark wizard passed them by. As soon as he left, Narcissa released much of the tension she had been holding onto and grasped her son's wrist once more; this time, she refused to let go as she studied her wayward husband.

He had a scraggly beard. _Never has been able to grow a decent beard_ , Narcissa thought, surprising herself with the mundane observation. He was thinner, his robes hanging as limply around his body as his hair hung about his face. For both her son and her husband, their lustrous platinum blonde hair had always been a point of pride; it almost hurt to see how low Lucius had been brought. She felt the stirrings of pity in the pit of her stomach as she looked at her husband. Then, she looked over at her son, her precious boy who looked more grey than pale these days, who's eyes had deep, dark circles beneath them, who had been tortured on multiple occasions over the past year, who had just been forced to participate in the murder of his headmaster and his cousins (even if she had her suspicions about that). All pity she might have had for Lucius was dissolved by the thought of what her baby boy had been put through because of her husband's foolishness.

"Draco, Narcissa," he breathed in a voice rough with disuse. He walked over to his son and Narcissa watched him tremble in Lucius' arms. Her heart lurched at the thought of her son being scared of his father, but as soon as he pulled back, Narcissa knew that wasn't the case. Never before had she seen Draco's eyes so full of rage.

"I'm going to bed," Draco said gruffly. "Goodnight, Mother," he said, dropping a small kiss on her forehead. Then he left, leaving her to stare at her husband.

"Narcissa, I—"

"Stop," she said, flicking her wand at the door to put up Silencing Charms. It would not do for anyone to hear the conversation she was about to have with her husband. "I don't want to hear it."

"Please, Cissy, I never meant to—"

"Don't you call me that," she hissed. "You've no right."

Lucius hung his head in shame. "Is he alright?"

"Who? Your son?" she said venomously. "The boy you swore you would protect? Because of your mistakes he spent this past year in constant danger, the threat of torture and the slaughter of his loved ones hanging over his every move. He had to participate in the _slaughter_ of some of the only remaining family we have left. But he survived—thanks to Severus, and not to you. But then he has always been more competent than you."

Lucius sneered. "You have more faith in a half-blood than your husband?"

Narcissa stared him down, every part of her wanting to rip him to shreds for what he had pulled this family into.

"You have more allegiance to a halfblood than your family," she stated coldly.

Lucius head snapped up. "Those are dangerous words, Narcissa, I won't my wife ki—"

"My safety is no longer your concern," she snapped. "If it ever was. I begged you not to join when we were still kids. When he came back, I pleaded with you for us to leave the country, to keep Draco out of this. _But you would not listen to me!"_

Lucius looked down, seemingly ashamed of himself.

"The only reason I do not leave you this instant to save myself is because you've dragged Draco so far in that he can hardly see a way out," she hissed in a low voice. "But trust me when I say, Lucius, I will leave you. And when I do, you will be left with _nothing_."

And just like that, she swept from the room to join her son, who she knew would need all the help she could give to come out of this war with his life and sanity intact.


	6. Reparations

**A/N: I know, I've been gone for much longer than I said I would be. I lost my old computer, with several files of chapters, and have been unable to find several of my notebooks where I had handwritten several chapters and a rough outline of this story. Coupled with the fact that hardly anyone reviews and/or reads this story, it dropped to the bottom of my priority list. So, Imma just update as I feel like it and not worry about anything else. This is supposed to be for fun, y'know.**

 _Dragon,_

 _I miss you terribly, which is crazy to say considering how little we've really seen of each other. I ought to be used to it.I had hoped to see you at the funeral, but I suppose that was impossible, really. It was a lovely service; Harry spoke. Strange thing to say about a funeral, I know. I have a terrible feeling that there will be more to come._

 _Things have become so unbearably dark so quickly. It was barely two years ago that we were at peace, that we were children and now the world has completely changed. I hate being separated from you, not knowing how you are doing, if you're okay, if you-_

"Who the bloody hell is Dragon?" Ron demanded loudly, leaning obnoxiously over her shoulder. Hermione quickly snatched up her letter, clutching it to her chest where he could not read it.

"I am sure that is none of your business, Ronald," she snapped, her face reddening.

"Your cheeks are going all funny-is that some sort of love letter?"

"After all year with you and Lavender Brown, are you really-"

"That has nothing to do with this! Here you are writing secret letters to some _Dragon-_ "

"This is still none of your business!

"Is it Krum? Are you still mooning over him?"

Before Hermione could give an answer, another voice joined them.

"The way I remember it, brother dear, you were the one mooning over Krum," Ginny said in a singsong voice. "Are you harassing our houseguest?"

Ron made a rude gesture that would have had Mrs. Weasley reaching for a paddle. "Oi, she was my friend first-"

"And this is-and always has been-my bedroom. So butt out and mind your own damn business!" Ginny retorted, shoving her brother out the door and slamming it shut, allowing Hermione to lock it quickly with her wand. "Merlin, but aren't you happy you don't have brothers? It's a wonder I've managed to date anyone at all!"

Hermione laughed. "I may not have brothers, but I do have Harry and Ron. Sometimes I think that may be worse."

Ginny snorted. "Trust me, it's not." She flopped onto her bed as Hermione carefully smoothed her letter, fastidiously smoothing out any wrinkles in the parchment. Ginny raised an eyebrow. "Is your secret lover boy the Prince of Wales or something?"

Hermione flushed again. "Like I told your brother, it's no one's business."

At that, Ginny sat up, a look on her face reminiscent of the twins. "Ooh, somebody has a secret. You have to tell me-it's part of the girl code. Is he tall? Rich? Handsome?"

Hermione laughed a little. "What girl code are you talking about?"

"Oh, Hermione, Hermione, you have been spending too much time with Harry and Ron," Ginny sighed. "The girl code whereby you always share with your best girlfriends any romance happening in your life, especially when aforementioned girlfriend is having such horrible luck with love!"

Hermione frowned. "Ginny, you know that Harry only broke up with you because-"

"-he thought it would be safer, la di dah, as if I haven't already been possessed by You-Know-Who for an entire school year," Ginny huffed. "The idiot is too damn noble for his own good and I plan to disavow him of that as soon as he gets here for the summer. But we were talking about you. Secret boyfriend. Divulge. Now."

Hermione frowned. "Ginny, I really-"

"Can only share it with me, I know," the younger redhead said knowledgably as she folded her legs underneath her. "So, go on. Lay it on me."

Hermione sighed, knowing that she would have to say something to get Ginny off the scent.

"You know why I don't understand Harry breaking up with you?" Hermione said. Ginny's face darkened.

"Because he's a bloody idiot who never makes any sense?" she groused.

Hermione inclined her head. "That, and there are more dangerous relationships out there," she said, before taking a breath. "But we've still made it work."

Ginny frowned. "Just how dangerous are we talking?"

Hermione heaved a sigh. "It would have been bad before the war. May still be even if we win. As it stands… Should anyone find out, he would be dead immediately."

"So you really can't tell me, can you?" Ginny said, though Hermione knew by the look in the redhead's eyes that she was likely running through the possible candidates in her mind.

"No, I really can't."

Ginny chewed her lip. "Are you scared?"

"Of this war? Everyone is scared!"

"No," Ginny said. "Are you scared that something will happen that will so completely change you both that nothing is the same? That you won't love each other anymore? That you will be too damaged to love anyone?"

Hermione considered her friend, heart pounding in her ears. She had always thought of herself and Ginny as being so different from one another, despite being in the same House. Ginny was athletic and fearless and seemed to have no insecurities when it came to any guys (besides Harry). Hermione was bookish and bossy and so awkward around the male species that somehow she had fallen in love with her nemesis.

But now she could see herself in the other girl.

"I'm terrified," she whispered.

Bailey felt her Dark Mark burn about three days before her godbrother's birthday. She cursed as she jerked upright in bed from the sudden searing pain in her left arm.

"Kreacher!" she shouted. The elderly elf appeared with a loud crack.

"Yes, young mistress?" he said.

"Bring me my cloak, quickly," she said. "And then go and hide in your attic-don't come out for anyone except me-don't talk to anyone but-do you understand?"

"Is mistress leaving the house?"

"Yes," she grunted, shoving her feet into some heavy dragonskin boots.

"But Mistress is not safe outside the house. Mistress was nearly killed. Young master was nearly killed."

"Are yeh concerned fer me, Kreacher?" she said wryly.

"The Noble House of Black must continue on. And you are the only member of the House of Black!" Kreacher cried.

"That's not exactly true, Kreacher," Bailey replied. "But I gave you an order. Cloak, now."

Kreacher frowned but disappeared and reappeared holding out her cloak with a frown. There was another surge of burning pain through Bailey's arm forcing her to make the decision to simply swing the cloak around her shoulders, not bothering to change out of her pajamas. Whatever was happening, it was big.

"Stay in the house, out of sight, and don't speak to anyone until I get home," Bailey repeated herself before marching out the door to grab her motorbike. As soon as she stepped onto the front porch, Bailey whirled on the spot and Disapparated to where the Mark was calling her. She found herself on the corner of a street in the most Muggle suburb she had ever seen. She read the sign: Privet Drive.

"Wha' the-" she muttered, letting loose a string of curse words that would be the pride of any Irish pub. Though she had never been to her godbrother's family home (nor had she ever wanted to go) she recognized it from all the court documents she and her mother had been working through after her father's death and the clearing of his name. But, it was still three days until Harry came of age-three days until the blood wards were supposed to lift. She heard the shouts of spells and battle above her head and looked up in the sky.

Flashes of green and red light shot across the sky, dark streaks whizzing around each other in a ferocious dance. Bailey cursed again before tapping herself with her wand to place a disillusionment charm. She shivered as the magic worked its way down her spine before putting her hood up and restoring her father's motorbike to its usual size before hopping on and revving the engine as she soared into the sky.

She felt more than saw a flash of green whiz by her face and she quickly sent her own flash of red in the same direction, not thinking about the fact that she may as well have Avada'd the other person.

 _Your enemy_ , she told herself harshly. _Not person, enemy._

It was the only way that she would be able to live with herself. She knew the people she was killing-her Housemates, her alumn, their friends, family. The people who the Dark Lord had tricked, manipulated, controlled. People like her. No, best to just say they were her enemies. Best to harden herself, her conscious. Best only to think, not to feel.

Bailey shot off another curse, this time far darker than a simple stupefy. This was war, these were her enemies, she was not a child. She nearly cried out when she first spotted him.

Harry.

Harry was in this battle.

She watched as he swerved on a thestral, pushing back the bile that that image brought up. Now was not the time to think about two years ago. Now was the time to focus.

And then she saw the second Harry. And a third.

"Stupid bloody Gryffindors an' bleedin' polyjuice!" she muttered to herself gritting her teeth. It had to be the stupidest, most convoluted hare-brained scheme she had ever seen. She veered out of the way of spellfire again, a curse on her lips, when she caught sight of silvery hair and froze.

That moment of hesitation was enough for her to be suddenly hit in the shoulder by a Bone-Breaking Curse. She screamed, whirling around as the edges of the world darkened. The same figure lifted his arm to cast another spell at her, but stopped when suddenly one of the Harry's started gushing blood from the left side of his head, granting Bailey just enough time to send a weak _confringo_ toward him, just powerful enough to knock the man off his broom.

Her head was swimming with pain when all of a sudden, most of the Death Eaters turned and disappeared. Her Dark Mark burned stronger than before. From far away a familiar voice called.

"Get out of here, stupid girl!"

Her vision was going in and out. She needed to leave, little she cared for her life. But if Bailey Black was discovered dead here after her funeral, _they_ would know. Know that the rest of her family had survived. So, without acknowledging that sneering voice, she Apparated, landing on the front porch of her ancestral home.

"Kreacher!" she called, the pain in her shoulder reaching a crescendo. The elf appeared beside her with a crack.

"Mistress! Mistress is hurt!" he cried.

"Get me-inside-to my bed," she grit out, the pain in her shoulder throbbing with each breath.

Surprisingly, Kreacher followed her orders and even went so far as to bring her a Pain-Relief Potion and a dose of Skele-Gro. Bailey thanked the cantankerous old elf and tossed back the potions like a shot. She sprawled on the bed, careful not to jostle her arm too much. Just as she felt the potion start to take effect and her eyes start to close, there was a flash of light and a piece of parchment on her nightstand.

 _Dead little girls don't fight wars._

Bailey sighed, summoning a quill to herself before scratching out a barely legible reponse.

 _I thought you rather liked singing birdsongs._

Bailey was nearly asleep once more when the parchment flashed again.

 _These days, one can only sing quietly. Given the state of your singing voice, I would suggest you desist from all vocal ventures._

Bailey smirked slightly to herself. Her mentor would protect her the best he could, she knew. But, despite himself, he would have to allow to her to make her own reparations in this war.

Draco tore through the halls of the manor, not pausing till he reached his mother's room. He hesitated, staring at the finely wrought wood, the shiny brass doorknob without really seeing his suroundings. His ears were still ringing with shouted spells-with that voice that he knew he could not have heard, the roar of the motorbike had only come from that half-breed giant.

His cousin was dead. And he had done nothing to stop it-he had stood and watched as her house went up in flames. His guilty concious (though some would claim he had no such thing) was merely playing tricks on him.

The door opened.

"Draco!" his mother exclaimed. "I did not expect you so soon-is everything alright? Are you hurt?"

Draco opened his mouth, ready to reveal his suspiciouns and then closed it. His mother was just as hurt at losing another member of her family, the girl she had regarded as a daughter. If he were to state his what he thought he had seen only to be proven wrong in the end… no, he could not do that to his mother.

"I am unhurt, Mother," he said. "Though things are far from alright. Potter escaped. Again."

His mother pursed her lips. She reached up and cupped a cheek. "I wish this war would be over, so I would not have to worry about you so."

Draco glanced away, mind still whirling with the possibilities.

"Darling?" she asked. "Is that all you wished to tell me?"

Draco jerked. "I-I-" he cleared his throat. "I am going to go on to bed for the night. I am not really hungry for dinner."

Narcissa looked unhappy but nodded. "Alright, darling. Sweet dreams."

Draco gulped and turned away, feeling his mother's gaze on his back all the way down the hallway. His head was swimming. He had known that voice shouting spells, and that motorbike had sounded much closer than he had known the oaf to be. Was it not suspicious that a man like Severus Snape would have assisted in the assassination of his own Apprentice, not to mention that of her entire family? And as far as he had known, Bailey had not been living at Fleecewood. At least, they had not been there when he had tried to visit the past summer, seeking solace from the Dark Lord and the Death Eaters like he had once searched for respite from Lucius' more sour moods. Was she not smarter than to have kept away from there? Surely any of the Black holdings would have been a more secure hiding place than an old muggle farm?

Draco stopped himself. Wishful thinking, that's all it was. He had heard her screams, had seen the bracelet in the wreckage of the home. Bailey was dead.

And if she wasn't, she had a damn good reason for faking her murder.


	7. Unravel

Sirius lay on the hard ground, entire body aching fiercely. He felt as though he would die here. He was losing hope that this mission was anything but eternal suicide. Fleecewood had burnt to the ground. Dumbledore had joined the world of the dead, as had Alastor Moody. _His daughter had become a Death Eater._

If there was one thing that Sirius had learned from his brother's life it was that no one escaped the ranks of the Dark Lord except by death. His daughter, his wife, his… son-he had a _son_ -would all likely be joining him long before he would be able to save them.

"Sirius Orion, get your lazy rump up this instant and stop your pouting!"

It was a voice he had not heard since he was nineteen and he had missed it dearly. He looked up to see a woman with dark auburn hair and grey eyes. She had fewer wrinkles and less grey hair than he remembered, but she still had that twinkle of mischief in her eyes that she had passed onto her son and grandson.

"Mrs. Potter," he breathed.

"I told you it is Mum," Dorea Potter replied, then smirked. "It annoys dear old cousin Walburga so."

Sirius scrambled to his feet and wrapped his arms around the woman he considered a mother. She was still a good foot shorter than him-had been since he was fifteen. He choked back a few heavy sobs as he clutched her tightly. She smoothed his hair, the same way she had the night he had run away from home, bruised and bloodied after his family's less than fond farewell.

"Now, now, enough of that," she said brusquely with all the authority that her own Black blood afforded her as she pushed him away. "What did I always say to you about these pity parties?"

"They're the coward's way," he said, straightening suddenly. "And that they meant Walburga had succeeded in breaking me."

"Good, you were paying the barest amount of attention to me," she smirked.

"Oh, Mum, you know I always hung off your every word," Sirius teased, fluttering his eyelids. She snorted.

"Then why are you laying on the ground instead of _getting the hell on with it,_ " she asked. "Your wife, your baby, and your terrified daughter are waiting for you!"

"No one escapes being a Death Eater," he said bitterly.

"And no one escapes Azkaban!" she sneered. "But if there is one thing I know about Sirius Black-about _my son_ -it's that there wasn't ever a rule he couldn't break."

Sirius gave her a small smile as a dangerous thing blossomed in his chest.

Hope.

Amelia had to force Blaise out of the house to go to Diagon Alley in order to get their school books for the upcoming year.

"What is the point of even going to Hogwarts?" Blaise had moaned as she yanked his comforter off of him that morning. She had scowled and threatened him with dumping a bucket of ice water on his head if that was what it took.

The Alley's emptiness was unsettling, made even emptier by the fact that it was only the two of them, not four. Amelia took in a sharp breath at the pain as she strode down the street quickly. She turned to notice Blaise staring at the apothecary. She steeled herself, knowing that she could not break down, nto yet.

"Come on, Blaise, do keep up," she said briskly, keeping her head high. It took a few moments, but she soon heard him moving. She paused long enough to loop an arm through his and physically pull him through the Alley.

"Merlin, can you not stand to be seen with me or something, Amelia?" Blaise groused.

"There's no one to see us. I don't want to be out of the wards for too long," she said simply. "Even Mikey has left Britain-"

"Coward, he's a Pureblood, perfectly safe-"

"You and I both know better than that," Amelia said darkly. Shaking herself, she pulled Blaise forward to Flourish and Blotts. "Now, what classes are you taking?"

"WHo cares?"

Amelia shot him a look. He sighed.

"Transfiguration, Runes, Astronomy, Charms and Defense."

"No potions?"

Almost immediately, Amelia could have kicked herself. Blaise shut down completely as they walked. Trying to distract him, she began babbling.

"For myself I'm taking Potions, Magical Creatures, Charms, History of Magic, and Defense," she said, "I'm absolute rubbish at Trans-"

"No Divination," Blaise said snootily.

Amelia bit her lip to stop herself from snapping back something crueler. There was a pause.

"I'm sorry, that was-"

"I still don't understand it!" she exclaimed, shaking with yet-to-be-released. The few passerbys looked at them. Blaise, seeming to sense the coming explosion, pulled her to the side of the street. "I've Seen this war end so many times and almost all of them contain the New Rise of the House of Black. Something went wrong. This isn't how it was supposed to go. She's not the one who was supposed to die!"

Blaise glanced at the Apothecary down the street as Amelia tried to calm her breathing.

"You really Saw _nothing_?" he seemed to beg. "You're not just trying to make it easier that you couldn't stop it from happening?"

"Of course not," she said, fighting to hide the quiver in her voice. "It still doesn't feel right."

Blaise continued to watch the entrance to the apothecary, unable to listen to the pain in his friend's voice. It reminded him too much of his own. There was a mother carrying a basket, two small children clutched in front of her. A man walked in who had what looked to be spectacular scars from spattergroit. A girl with long, dark hair readjusted her hood, giving him a flash of a pale aristocratic face, gray eyes flashing.

Blaise's heart caught in his throat. "Amelia-look!"

"What?"

"Walking into the apothecary!"

Amelia rolled her eyes at him, but then narrowed her eyes at what she saw.

"Is that-" she snarled.

"It can't-"Blaise said breathlessly.

Rage boiled inside of Amelia, fiercer than she had ever known as she began to take long strides across the street.

" _Malfoy_!" she shouted, her red curls becoming more like a Gorgon's snakes.

The blonde boy turned, his skin greyish. Amelia felt some sort of righteous satisfaction.

"Amelia, Blaise," he said, voice trembling. "You shouldn't be here, you need-"

 _SMACK_!

Amelia stopped him in his tracks as she slapped him so hard that he stumbled back a little. But she wasn't done, ceremonial words bursting out of her in a torrent of anger and hurt.

"You have dishonored your family name and soiled the status of your blood," she began in the almost liturgical rhthym that her governess had taught her such things in as a young child.

Blaise's eyes widened as he realized what she was doing and Malfoy looked absolutely panicked at the thought, despite the fact that both of them had planned on ending the betrothal as soon as they were legally of age. That had changed with the war.

"Amelia, no, no-I know I deserve it, I know we didn't want this-but you don't want to do this! Don't do this now!" Draco begged. Amelia's eyes hardened.

"You have brought harm to the doorstep of your own home and," she choked a little, "you have failed to protect the most vulnerable of your own House."

"Amelia, please-"

"Lia, you should think about what you're-"

"You've allowed members of your House to perish under your watch!" she shouted above the protesting voices of Blaise and Draco. "You are no protecto. You are no provider. You are not trustworthy and unfit to take the hand of the Daughter of the Most Noble House of Blackwood in marriage! I hereby destroy our betrothal contract!"

An audible snap broke the magic between the two and there was the smell of ozone in the air.

"Damnit, Amelia, now I can't protect you!"

"Don't flatter yourself, Draco," she sneered. "You can't even protect yourself."

"I'm not the only one who has made mistakes!" Draco shouted. "Bailey-Salazar help her-was not a saint! She was as Mar-"

Blaise drew his wand then, pointing it inches away from Draco's nose.

"She protected her own," Blaise said softly. "That's more than you can say."

"There was nothing I could do! I knew nothing until it was too late."

Amelia was now pointing her wand as well. He sighed and stepped back from his oldest friends.

"And I'll protect you two now," he said. "Get out of here. And don't come back to Diagon Alley."

"You absolute-"

But Blaise saw the look in Draco's eye even if Amelia was too far gone to notice. This was a warning they should heed.

"C'mon, Amelia," he said, grabbing her by the wrist. "We need to go. We can get the rest by owl order."

Before she could say anything else-or attack Draco full-out, Blaise had apparated them both back to Zabini Manor. Neither of them saw the green lights begin to flash across the sky, but Blaise certainly saw the dirty look that Amelia gave him before flouncing up the stairs to the guest room she had claimed.

Blaise could not settle, moving listlessly from room to room well into the night. Amelia's comments that Bailey was not supposed to die in any of the futures she had seen-that girl with the hood in the alley that he had caught a glimpse of. Memories of the night she left floated to the surface of his mind, when he had given her that claddagh necklace. She had been scared, he knew, but he had also known the look in her eye. It was the steely determination of a Slytherin's hope.

What had gone wrong?

He had been so certain that Professor Snape would help her. The thought of the dark man betraying one of his Snakes, much less his own Apprentice, was unimagineable. Blaise had not believed even the pull of the Dark Lord to be strong enough to sever the ancient bonds of Head of House to his charges, much less of Master to his Apprentice. If the Dark Lord truly had the power to break bonds that if not created by Merlin himself had certainly been perfected by him-well, one could hardly think on that possibility.

So then, had it gone right?

The funeral had been closed casket, as Fleecewood and its inhabitants had burnt to the ground. Nothing had remained of the Black after the inferno, as the papers had reported. Nothing but unidentifiable bones. The family not just dead, but _obliterated_.

Had Bailey's life not been horrendously altered by another such instance of faking one's death in Peter Pettigrew?

"You're still awake?" Amelia said. Blaise looked up at her words, realizing then that he had wandered into the kitchen. Blaise shrugged and flopped onto one of the stools at the tall counter. Amelia continued what she had been doing-making herself some chamomile tea, it smelled like. After a few moments, a steaming mug sat itself in front of him. He looked up at Amelia, who would not look at him. Her apology, he knew, for having blown him off earlier. Not that she needed to-he certainly had not been pleasant the past few weeks.

"Thinking about constantly won't bring her back, Blaise," she said softly. "You're hurting yourself."

"Something just doesn't add up, 'Melia," he replied. "She had a plan when she left Hogwarts, she wasn't supposed to die-you've said as much how many times?-and I just cannot be-"

"Blaise, slow down," she said, wrapping her dressing gown tightly around herself like armor. "I can hardly believe it myself. But Bailey _is_ gone. The Dark Lord is powerful and she denied him something he wanted. We all know that those the Dark Lord sets his sights on are living on borrowed time. You and I just have to keep our heads down through this year and when we graduate, we can run as far as we can-convince MACUSA or some other country to aid Britain. But we just can't keep focusing on Bailey's loss."

"Says the girl who just broke her betrothal with a Death Eater very publicly," Blaise replied dryly. She shrugged.

"C'est la vie," she replied, finishing her mug of tea. "Now, to bed!"

Blaise followed her orders, but he dreamt of the grey-eyed girl in the hood all night long.


	8. Resurrection

**A/N: Big thank you to my guest reviewer! I plan on continuing this story, I just have such an irregular work schedule/am headed to grad school in the fall, so posting is not very regular. If I keep having substitute jobs like the one I had today, though, posts may be more regular through the end of May! Anywho, here it is, hope you enjoy!**

The Death Eaters were getting suspicious of the vigilante who was subverting their raids. They assumed there had to be a spy in the ranks. Many fingers pointed to Snape, some to Draco, one had even accused Wormtail. At one point, Bellatrix had cornered her nephew to interrogate him.

"What is your godfather up to? Is he working for the Order?"

"Of course not," Draco gasped out, fighting for breath against his aunt's chokehold. "He killed Dumbledore!"

"Then where do your loyalties lie, Draco?"

"Put him _down_ , Bella," the commanding voice of Narcissa Malfoy sounded behind him. "He is loyal to the Dark Lord, as you well know. I will not have my son manhandled in his own home."

"I will question anyone who I suspect to be betraying my Lord," Bellatrix sneered, though she did back away a step. Though few others remembered, Narcissa was actually the better duelist of the sisters.

"To assume there even is a spy is to dangerously underestimate the Order," Narcissa admonished, stepping between her son and sister. "There are enough foolish Gryffindors amongst them that large groups should have stopped these raids-instead it sounds as though there has been but one, maybe two resistors."

Bella snorted and left in a huff. Narcissa nearly sighed in relief as she turned to face her son. His pale skin was more red around his neck, his eyes as sunken as they had been since Lucius had gone to Azkaban. But, he had an odd look in his eye all the same as she fussed over him.

"One, maybe two people?" he asked. "So are you saying we have some sort of lone wolf acting against us? They would have to be very powerful."

Narcissa nodded. "Powerful and very determined. That is my theory, anyway."

She knew her young cousin. Minerva Bailey Ann Black was both those things. And, she still had a Dark Mark and therefore just enough information to make her dangerous to herself and others.

"Do you know something, Mother?" Draco asked.

Narcissa gave him a shrewd look. "I have suspicions, Dragon. And in these times, one should only speak proven facts."

"Mistress needs to take a break!" Kreacher said as he bandaged her left arm. She had been hit by a burn curse during the fight in Diagon Alley and it the only magic it reacted to was aloe vera and time.

"Salazar, damn this to hell," she hissed, jerking back from the elf trying to loosely tie the bandage.

"Young Mistress must be still!" Kreacher scolded. The little elf had slowly become more and more bearable and then unbearable once more in a wholly different fashion. "Mistress must not go out again!"

"I have to Kreach-gahh!" she cried out as he tied a little too tightly. She glared at the old elf. "You did that on purpose."

"Young Mistress is the last in the line of the Noble House of Black. She is precious, she cannot die!"

"I am not, Kreacher. The only precious members of this family are either dead or hidden-ow! Kreacher!"

The elf gave her an innocent look before he snapped his fingers to clear away the first aid kit.

"Young mistress should listen to her Potions Master. He doesn't want her to risk her life. He wants her to stay in Grimmauld Place, to keep safe, to not take risk-"

"Risk implies there is something of value on the line and I-gahh-" she hissed suddenly, clasping her right hand over her left arm. "Give me my clothes Kreacher and then go hide."

"But Mistress-"

"Are you disobeying a direct order from the Lady of House Black?"

Kreacher deflated and Bailey almost felt guilty.

"No, Mistress."

"Good. Now do as I said."

Bailey followed the Dark Mark's call to a ramshackle house with a large wedding marquee outside of it. There were nearly as many Death Eaters as there were redheads swarming the place. She swore viciously. What were those idiotic Gryffindors thinking, still having a blasted wedding in the middle of a vicious war? Had they never heard of elopement?

She began blasting off hexes as the Death Eaters poured into the backyard. She'd never seen them in such numbers before. They must have suspected that Harry would be at the wedding, since it obvious had been the nuptials of a Weasley clan member. She prayed that her godbrother was not so stupid as to have been in attendance.

Firing off spell after spell, Bailey fought her way through, trying to allow as many wedding guests to escape as possible. She was battling with a beefy Death Eater she remembered was named Rowle when her hood was blasted off.

"It's Bailey Black!" someone shouted. She noticed a few camera flashes. And then the Death Eaters began to swarm her. Wards slammed down all around her. Running was her only chance. There were too many to fight; she was not so great a duelist to take them all on. If they caught her, they could get to her mother, to the baby. She had to remain alive, if only so she could still protect her family.

" _Sectumsempra_!" an unfamiliar voice shouted. She cried out and stumbled as the spell cut into her side. Without looking at it, she could tell it was deep. But, there was no choice but to keep running, to keep trying to disapparate, dodging 'crucio's' and 'avada's' all the way. She tossed a few hexes, but was hit by more-cutting curses and burning spells. There was no time to dodge the ones that would prove immediately debilitating or lethal, but each one slowed her a little more.

The end of the wards was near, she could feel it. She strained to leap over the low stone fence that the wards had been hastily anchored to when one of the Death Eaters grabbed onto her. Thinking quickly, she twisted and Apparated to Mikey's apartment, which had been left empty as soon as she had left her brother there.

"What the bloody hell-"

"Bombarda!" Bailey shouted, pointing her wand at the ceiling. It came crashing down all around them both, giving her just enough time to disapparate once more, this time to Grimmauld Place.

Fuzzy blackness was creeping in all around the edges of her vision as she stumbled up the porch steps, barely turning the door knob before collapsing completely.

The last thing she saw were three wands pointing directly in her face.

The time since leaving the Weasleys had not been pleasant. Within five minutes of leaving the wedding, they had been found in London by Death Eaters, forcing them to lock themselves inside Sirius' childhood home. The home of an entire family that had been wiped away for Harry's sake.

Or so he thought.

As soon as the Golden Trio had dismantled the wards on the place set by Mad-Eye, the door had burst open once again. All three immediately had their wands trained on the intruder, who collapsed upon the floor, bleeding from several wounds. But Harry recognize that dark mass of waves on her head.

"Bailey!" he shouted, dropping his wand and running to the girl prostrate on the floor.

"Harry, you don't know that that's really her-"

"And I won't if we don't help her before she bleeds out in the foyer!"

"Mate, she's de-"

Before Ron or Hermione could say anything else, there was a pop and Kreacher was leaning over the unconcious girl.

"Kreacher told Mistress!" he wailed. "He told Mistress to stop! To stay safe!"

"Well, there's our answer," Harry said snidely before scooping his godsister up in his arms to carry her to the couch, all thoughts of being a wizard flying from his head. "Mione, get whatever healing supplies I know you brought and bring them to me!"

Luckily his bushy-haired friend did as he asked as he laid Bailey out on the couch. Her shirt was soaked through with blood and one of her sleeves was singed. There was also a cut on her forehead and her left arm was already bandaged.

"What have you been doing?" he muttered to himself before ripping off the bottom half of her shirt. He started applying pressure to the wound with the torn Weird Sisters t-shirt, praying that Hermione came quickly as Bailey's breaths grew more labored.

"Hurry, Mione!" he yelled, panic building. A few moment later, she came scurrying in ith a couple bottles and white bandages.

"Those were made with Dark Magic," she said, pointing at the large cut Harry was holding. "Dittany won't work. We'll just have to bandage her best we can. The burn and the cut on her forehead should be no problem. Put this on that."

She handed Harry some gauze and he pressed it to her side. Hermione was pouring dittany over the other injuries. Kreacher stood setinel at her elbow.

"Stupid Mudblood ought to take care of Mistress' big hurt first! Stupid Mudblood shouldn't be touching Mistress at-"

"Kreacher, I swear-"

"Not the time for chivalry, Harry," Hermione snapped. "Kreacher, can you please help bandage her? Hold pressure on the wound while Harry holds her up."

The efl, surprisingly, obeyed.

Hermione worked quickly as Harry leaned his godsister forward on his shoulder. She stirred and whimpered in pain.

"You're gonna be okay, you're safe," he whispered.

"Harry?"

"Yeah, Minnie, it's me," he said with half-hearted grin.

"Don' call me tha'."

He smiled wider.

"Have her drink this-Blood Replenisher," Hermione said whilst shoving a small container into his hand.

"Wuss tha'?" Bailey mumbled as he lifted the bottle to her lips.

"Blood Replenishing Pot-"

"Bu' 'oo made it?"

"I think the apothecary-"

"Rubbish," she said, shaking her head almost drunkenly.

"Bailey-" he was interrupted by her coughing wretchedly, an alarming tinge of pink at the corner of her lips. "Please, just take the damn potion."

"Thin's I do fer yeh, Po'er," she grumbled with no bite. Harry assisted her in drinking the little bottle down. She slumped against him sleepily.

"Here," Hermione said, passing him more bottles. "Sleeping Draught and Anti-Infection." This time, his godsister did not protest the potions. Almost immediately, she was passed out in his arms.

"What do you think happened?" Ron asked after several moments of silence.

Harry looked between his two best friends and the family that he had thought he's lost in his arms.

"I don't know if I want to know."


End file.
